


Captured

by Roxel



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Happy Ending, M/M, Some brooding, some self-hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 03:27:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3554333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roxel/pseuds/Roxel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angered and betrayed, Thorin banishes Bilbo from the mountain for theft of the Arkenstone, but when Fíli and Kíli come with news of Bilbo's capture by the orcs, how will Thorin react?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This idea was actually not my own. My mum came up with this while listening to the track that plays during one of the trailers, the one called Dust and Light. While the base idea was hers, I added my own bits to it to flesh it out with more detail.
> 
> Some context and dialog is similar throughout, since I was blending it with canon.

The all-consuming quiet that heavily blanketed the throne room gave way to bitter thoughts, to the anger that festered within. There sat a lonely king atop his rightful seat of authority, wearing a crown that he deserved by birthright.

The Arkenstone lay in the hands of another, its thief long cast away for the unforgivable treachery dealt by willingly handing it off. The utter infuriation he felt at the incompetent  _burglar_  whom he’d previously trusted with his life had kept it hidden from him and proceeded to make off with it like it was of some lesser value, to be traded and used as a form of bargain.

It made him sick, the very idea of it. He grit his teeth as a fresh wave of betrayal hit him. It was truly awful, this feeling of such hurt when before he had nothing but admiration and affection for the little hobbit. Never had he imagined Bilbo to commit such trickery, especially against him and his kin. He had truly accepted him as one of them, but now…

Now he wanted nothing to do with the damned halfling.

It was known that Dwarves only loved once; now he knew that he’d never be able to love again. He had been certain Bilbo was his One, and even still he believed that, but with the Arkenstone beyond his reach because of one such hobbit, he couldn’t allow himself to accept it. It wasn’t just the stolen Arkenstone that gave cause to such animosity, but the very fact that Bilbo could act upon such disloyalty and dishonor, knowing what the Arkenstone meant and how it would make Thorin feel. The king had been stabbed in the back by he who held Thorin’s trust above all.

Absorbed as he was in his poisonous thoughts, he failed to hear the doors slide open and a couple pairs of hurried footsteps approach him. It wasn’t until a shout that he was brought away from such brooding.

“Uncle!” Kíli exclaimed, huffing in the exertion of running a long distance.

“Uncle quick,” Fíli gasped, leaning some weight on his knees to catch his breath.

“What is it?” Thorin demanded, making no move to stand as he regarded his nephews with visible annoyance.

“It’s - it’s Bilbo,” Kíli answered.

“There were some warg scouts over the hill where he was heading,” Fíli continued, straightening and giving Thorin a hard look. The king sat forward just slightly, an unwelcome pang of true fear quick to grip his heart.

“They took him, Uncle! All because you got so  _angry_  and banished him!” the younger brother added.

Fíli nodded anxiously. “We must do something, quick! They’ll kill him!”

“That bastard Azog will surely recognize him from the cliff, and…”

“Don’t just sit there, dammit!” Fíli shouted, surprising them all including himself.

Thorin grimaced and threw out an arm. “Begone! I will not have my heirs command me. It is not your place,” he spat. The wounded look upon the princes’ faces threw Thorin off just slightly before he regained his composure.

“So you’ll do nothing?” Fíli asked quietly, menacingly so. They were both angry, Thorin knew, but his own indignation seemed justified enough that he needn’t respond to their will.

“I said.  _Begone_ ,” he growled.

“The war is starting, Uncle!” Kíli yelled as Fíli whipped around and grabbed him to leave. “He’ll be murdered!”

As they stepped away and down the bridge of the throne room, Fíli’s voice could be heard echoing back to the maddened king. “We’ll go get him ourselves then.”

“Don’t you dare!” Thorin bellowed after them, but they were gone, the door closed firmly behind them in their wake. With his frustration and rage so acute, he could only sit and continue to fume.

He couldn’t count the time as it passed him by, but it felt to be a long stretch before the door at the other end of the bridge opened. Balin stepped carefully through, leaving the entrance to a crack as he began his gentle approach, moving cautiously as if trying to appease a wild beast as he neared.

“Thorin…” he began, but found himself cut off before he could continue.

“No Balin, I don’t want to hear it.”

The old dwarf sighed heavily, massaging his temple with a few fingers. “You can’t just sit idle while war falls upon us. Dain and his men are out there dying, Thorin.”

Thorin tilted his head back just so, looking down on his old friend. “That isn’t all this is about,” he stated.

Balin shook his head. “No, it isn’t.”

“Speak.”

“We all know you love him. How can you sit by while unnamable things could be happening to him?” There was a frown, then a sigh, and finally a defeated expression befell the king. “I worry for you Thorin. And I know if any could have pulled you out of this, it would have been him. But he’s gone now.” Balin turned on his heel and headed back the toward the exit. “This time there may be no other hope.”

No one else came after the old dwarf to pester him. The moment Balin had left him did Thorin finally allow himself to remember his journey with the child of the kindly west.

_He stepped inside the quaint little home in the hill, his eyes set upon the one Gandalf had chosen as their fourteenth member, their_  burglar,  _he was called. Gandalf had assured him that halflings were quick and quiet on their feet, but he couldn’t stop the doubt that arose at the first impression._

_“He looks more like a grocer than a burglar,” he had said with little mirth. This was a serious quest, he refused to allow the wizard to mock him with this choice. The hurt look on the hobbit’s small, hairless face somehow made him regret his comment, but he didn’t take it back._

_As he lay there bound in a sack at the mercy of trolls, Bilbo stood up to the fiends with more courage than Thorin thought he’d ever see a hobbit possess. “They’re all infected with parasites!” he had said as Bombur was held above the disgusting mouth of one of the trolls. All the dwarves started protesting and shouting that they were in fact not infected, but with a single kick, Thorin shut them up. Then Óin, followed by Kíli, began to declare they had the biggest parasites after realizing Bilbo’s clever ploy to stop the trolls from trying to eat them. When Gandalf cracked a large rock to reveal sunlight and petrify the trolls, Thorin had smiled wide. That was when he began to see Bilbo as more than just some halfling._

Thorin frowned deeply as he imagined the hobbit’s hairless face he came to think was fair and pleasant to gaze upon. He had been so kind, so why had he betrayed the king’s trust? He sighed as another memory flittered through his mind’s eye, one less pleasing than the others at his own fault.

_The wind and rain was harsh as it beat down on the company who were tossed to and fro by the mountain giants. The monstrous things were unaware of anyone clinging to them as they fought. Once the dwarves reunited after a short, fearful separation, Bofur frantically glanced back and forth as he called out, “where’s Bilbo?!” They found him dangling from the wet cliff side, and Ori and the miner wasted no time in diving for him. They struggled to get a hold of him and to haul him up, but Thorin risked falling himself as he leapt off to help the hobbit up over the edge. He lost his grip just as Dwalin made a grab for him who succeeded in pulling him up._

_“Thought we lost our burglar,” Dwalin commented, to which Thorin quickly replied as he pulled himself together._

_“He’s been lost, ever since he left home. He should never have come, he has no place amongst us.”_

Thorin clenched his eyes shut. He’d been so wrong.  _So_  wrong. Until now. Perhaps he had been right, since Bilbo stole the heart of the mountain like the burglar he was. But then Thorin recalled the time with the spiders and when they had been jailed in the Mirkwood dungeon. So many times Bilbo managed to get them out of every tight situation. And there was also that time in the trees on the cliff. If that little hobbit had come just a second later he would not still have his head upon his shoulders. Thorin owed him his life but he more or less repaid him by sparing it and casting him out since punishment for theft of the king’s treasure could well be death. But what good was it if he sent the halfling to his probable doom regardless?

_“We must do something, quick! They’ll kill him!”_

Fíli’s voice rang clear in his mind. The bastards that took Bilbo were orcs after all, his life was no doubt forfeit at that point.

_“He’ll be murdered!”_

Thorin smacked his forehead in the result of powerful conflicting emotions. He grit his teeth, tugged a braid, and curled his toes tight in his boots.

_“For treason against my kin, my kingdom, and myself, I banish you,” he said with little remorse, barely looking at the hobbit who dared to give the most precious gem away. The only thing he regretted was losing someone he thought was a good friend. He wouldn’t openly admit it, but he really came to enjoy the hobbit’s gentle, easy company and calming voice._

_“I only did it to prevent a war, Thorin, you need an alliance with these people and their kingdoms for success in the future!” But Thorin was too blind with rage and the sharp bite of betrayal to listen to reason._

_“Don’t tell me how to run my own kingdom!” he roared back, startling Bilbo backward a step._

_“You cannot see what you are becoming, and I worry about you!” Bilbo retorted, flailing his arms with frustration. “Everything I do, I do for you and your blasted mountain! I just want you to succeed.”_

_“Enough. Get out of my sight,” the king growled with finality, turning away. “Go back to your books and your armchair, your cozy little fire and your easy little life.”_

_“You aren’t your grandfather, Thorin. Please come back,” Bilbo pleaded quietly. “You aren’t the same proud and mighty dwarf you were before all this.”_

_“Go!” he didn’t want to hear it any longer._

_“Be strong and control this!” He yelped when the king shoved him out, leaving him to brave the journey home, cold and alone._

The last look of desperation and hurt that Thorin had caught upon Bilbo’s face haunted him, clearly as if he was gazing into those darkened eyes so filled with sadness at that very moment. He stood suddenly as he remembered the embrace they shared atop the Carrock, finally realizing what his true treasure really was.

“Bilbo…  _Ghivashel._ ”

Suddenly, a new strength flooded through him, breaking down the dam holding back his fear and worry for his hobbit. He grabbed his crown, tore it from his head, then gave it one last look. With a quick grunt, he flung it behind him and paid it no more attention as it clattered across the floor before the throne. He hurried across the bridge and burst into the hall. Over the elevated catwalks and beneath archways, he rushed to where most of the others were gathered at the armory, some suiting up, and others hesitant to do so without their king’s order. As he strode up, Kíli tossed him a hateful glare and Fíli barely regarded him. The both of them were fully geared and ready; armor, weapons, and their wits about them. The few around that supported them were also dressed up and prepared, Bofur amongst the small group. The others however, pacing or seated, were roused by the king’s presence.

“Uncle, he could be dead now just because you sat around for so long! I cannot stay hidden behind these walls any longer while others fight our battles for us!”

“We’re going after him,” Fíli added airily, securing the buckles and his throwing axes on his boot.

“And I shall lead the charge,” Thorin announced, fully garnering everyone’s attention.

He offered a careful smile to Kíli who had stepped toward him as he had shouted. He closed the distance and they shared an unspoken moment, staring into each other’s eyes and smiling together. Thorin brought up a hand and stroked it down Kíli’s hair to the back of his head, then drew him forward to press his forehead to his younger nephew’s, their smiles widening. Fíli stepped up behind his brother, grinning just as wide as he watched them. Thorin drew away from Kíli and stepped toward the blond, taking hold of his heir’s face with gentle hands to share the gesture with him in turn. Fíli eagerly touched his head to his uncle’s, his hands coming up to rest on each side of Thorin’s neck.

The other dwarves around them had all risen, watching with admiration and pride. Dwalin had come to join them with the remaining few that had been away in time to witness the entire exchange and hadn’t smiled so sincerely for so long. When Thorin parted from Fíli, he scanned the room and gazed at each of those who’d shown him utmost loyalty.

“I have no right to ask this of any of you,” he began, the others seeming to collectively hold their breaths as they awaited his command. “But will you follow me…one last time?” At once the dwarves lifted their weapons in mutual agreement. This was it.

 

* * *

 

A giant bell knocked into the makeshift barricade that had stood in place of the gate, a resounding toll echoing over the field. Orcs and their large accompanying beasts that had been advancing at the call of their horn signal halted at the sight, but Bombur blasting their own opposing horn that resounded loudly around them startled the enemies back into action. When the golden bell receded back into shadow, the company of dwarves charged through, Thorin leading with his nephews just behind him on each side. Their swords were raised, their confidence high, and their rage, burning. They had but one destination and they would well find it as soon as they made it through this mess.

As they charged forward, Dain’s men parted to let them through, Dain himself calling out, “to the king!” a couple times as they passed by him. His men met his call with cheers, and together they followed Thorin into the wall of orcs, ploughing their way through.

Fíli and Kíli adamantly remained at Thorin’s side, the others nearby but never straying too far as they sent limbs flying and heads rolling. Together they remained as a unit, cutting down every orc that came at them. Thorin shouted out orders and Dain’s men followed. While Thorin led the dwarves gathered at the gate onward, Bard led men to battle in the ruins of Dale, Thranduil and the elves with them.

The leader of the army, Azog, stood powerfully atop Ravenhill, elevated high above the action where he could survey and give out commands. It was Fíli that pointed out what looked to be an overturned catapult basket amongst the contraptions on the high, narrow keep where the orc leader stood.

“It looks like something or someone could be beneath it!” the blond shouted over the din of clanging metal and howls of pain or triumph around them.

Kíli shot down a distant orc and glanced up to see for himself. “He’s right! What if that’s where Bilbo is being kept?”

“There’s no coincidence that the head of the army stands with the prisoner,” Thorin spat while he dispatched three orcs in succession, his dwarven sword tossing up spatters of blood in its wake. “He means to lure me.”

His nephews seemed to draw closer to him at the admittance. Only a few orcs came at them as Dain’s army kept them at bay on all sides. When Dain’s warriors managed to force their way ahead of them in the midst of battle, Thorin did not know, nor did he mind as it meant he and his company were more protected.

When the head of a much larger orc fell to the ground at his feet by his sword’s bite, he raised it and his shield and shouted out, rallying the dwarves onward. They began their forceful push up the slope toward the leader. Kíli’s arrow struck two in the head at once as Fíli stopped an orc short of striking his brother. Dain sent another flying with his mighty hammer, roaring with jubilation. He came to stand by Throin and nodded to him. Thorin grinned gratefully and together they pressed on, both shouting orders to their men and staying together as one.

The orcs’ horns blasted and their ridiculous contraption atop the high keep shifted, but their strength on the field was waning. When the dwarves approached the sheer ascent toward their destination, Thorin grabbed Dain’s arm and looked him in the eye.

“I will climb up to take the bastard out with my men,” he told him. “I trust you can take care of yourselves here?”

Dain beamed and clapped Thorin’s shoulder. “Of course, Cousin. Do your worst.”

Thorin nodded before backing away. “You can count on it.” He turned to seek out his party and called to them. “To me! We climb to the top!” The twelve of his dwarves assembled at his side without question and shouted battle cries as they charged to the steep rise. They met no resistance until they reached the snowy ruins of the long forgotten Ravenhill. They worked together to fight off the orcs that dared to stand in their way, tossing them over the edge to fall to their deaths or impaling them through. A sharp crack met their ears and heads turned. Dwalin smiled sheepishly as he lifted his axe from the mess of a busted orc’s head.

“I guess they do have some brains,” he joked, earning some laughs.

In their momentary down time, they examined their surroundings. It had become far too quiet. It sent a wave of unease through Thorin as he glared at the dark openings of the archways that surrounded the little courtyard they stood in.

“Thorin!”

He glanced over to Fíli to see him standing on a weathered staircase, pointing toward the keep where Azog had been prior to their climb. He joined his nephew on the stairs to see for himself. It was completely abandoned. With new fear, Thorin turned to his company.

“Be on you guard!” He descended quickly, Fíli at his heel, as he met with the others. “Stay as one - do not split up.” He shared a look with Dwalin, who nodded his agreement. He would watch over the princes and make sure they made it one piece.

Together they moved into the hall of the battered ruins, Dwalin at the front with Thorin just behind, while Bifur and Dori were positioned at the back, watching for any who might ambush them. Their footsteps seemed too loud in the small space as they stepped over fallen crumbles of stonework from the walls and ceiling, each crunch of a boot over brittle rock making Thorin cringe just a little.

“They could be hiding anywhere…” Ori murmured in front of Dori, clutching Dwalin’s big warhammer close.

“Hush,” Dori scolded quietly, his eyes flicking to anything and everything with paranoia. Indeed they could be anywhere and Thorin wouldn’t doubt they were being watched either.

They came to the end of the hall, having carefully checked each room that they passed by, and slowly filed out into the small clearing ahead. There wasn’t much to see or many places they could go aside from the stairs that led to another level or the archway beneath it leading onward.

A strange sound echoed around them and grew louder as it drew closer. In seconds, huge bats were rushing above them, heading toward the field or to the city, they could only guess. For the time being, the beasts weren’t bothering them, so they pressed on.

They took the path beneath the stairs after a quick vote amongst a few of those that stood at the front. A clamor of noise picked up as they moved, echoing down the hall and making some freeze up with fright. Firelight glowed in the halls from ahead and from those to their left and right as they were closed in on.

“Go back, go back!” Thorin demanded, pulling on Dwalin’s arm and Kíli’s hand. But it was too late.

Orcs and goblins were upon them.

The orcs came from ahead and the goblins trapped them from behind. Forced to fight in the hall, the strongest of the company stood ready at the front and the rear, two side by side as there was no room for another in the tight space. Thorin and Dwalin met the orcs head on, already taking heads off and stabbing through vital organs. Dori held up the back against the goblins with Bifur, who repeatedly speared the life from the nasty creatures with his boar spear. At his side, Dori cut down any that avoided the thrust of the spear, but as the bodies piled up, the goblins began leaping at them.

“Fight your way out!” Thorin called back to them, dodging the swipe of a sword and taking the offending arm off with his own blade. “Push them back…we need to get out of here!”

They were quickly being overwhelmed. For every goblin Bifur and Dori cut down, they took a step over the corpses to advance and push their way out. Just before the front of the group stepped back to follow the rear’s lead, Fíli reached around Thorin to grab the spear of a fallen enemy at their feet and proceeded to poke the bastards from between Dwalin and Thorin. Kíli cackled as the spear found its way into the eye socket of an orc who was blind in the other. Fíli shouted triumphantly as it fell, pulled the weapon back, and shoved the spearhead into the mouth of another just behind it. Kíli laughed again and clapped his brother on the back in praise.

With every step Dori and Bifur took over the fallen bodies, the rest of the company followed until finally they reached the exit. By the time they spilled out into the open, the majority of the ambush party had been slain. Only a handful of orcs followed them out, still persistent on fighting them. As a couple made to strike Ori after he swung down another, arrows pierced their skulls, landing them heavily upon the ground. He glanced up quickly to see Legolas high atop the ruins of a tall and narrow building nearby, and smiled with gratitude. However the elf missed the gesture, busy as he was sticking his arrows into the hearts and heads of their common foe.

The orcs’ numbers dwindled and few goblins remained, choosing to flee instead of standing with them to the end. They knew what fate awaited if they stayed. A calm descended over them once again after their shouts of victory died out, leaving the company to stand around as if waiting for another wave of disgusting things to attack. When nothing happened, Thorin signaled them to continue on. They took the stairs this time, to a higher level on the cliff side by the frozen waterfall. At the top, they stepped into a broken, empty room and made way for the exit out, emerging into another open space surrounded by rock and snow, the river completely iced over just to their right.

Thorin led the group onward, but an abrupt and startled cry rang out, effectively halting them where they stood. Heads whipped around to find Fíli suspended from the ground by a huge orc hand around his throat. The beast was instantly recognized as Bolg, who must’ve struck from the open archway Thorin had just passed by. Fíli struggled against the dirty grip, his own hands clawing at the arm that held him up. His swords had clattered to the ground in the sudden fierce grapple, leaving him helpless. Bolg held a long blade to the prince’s heart as he glared down at Thorin, as if daring him to do something.

Having been close to Dwalin, Kíli was mostly obscured from the horrendous orc’s view, and in the very second after Fíli was lifted, he reached for his bow and nocked an arrow. Stepping from behind Dwalin, he had but another second to aim before he let it fly. Fíli stumbled to his hands and knees at the sudden release, then quickly grabbed his swords and scampered away between the nearest dwarves. With the arrow protruding from his forehead, Bolg had tipped backward and fell back into the hall whence he came. Thorin stared bug-eyed and amazed, then turned to praise Kíli only to find him wrapped up in Fíli’s arms. He smiled and the others cheered.

“Well done,” he said gently when Kíli looked to him. The grin Thorin received was one so full of pride and relief, he could feel it radiating off of the young prince. Thorin gave them only a moment longer before calling them onward. It wasn’t long however, before an enraged Azog burst out from behind a broken wall just ahead. Several large orcs accompanied him and Thorin growled viciously.

It was time.

The orcs came roaring at them and the company took up arms. They charged forward at Thorin’s shout and met the orcs head on. It became hectic the very second the first weapons clashed. Azog had tried to get at Kíli for revenge but Thorin blocked his path, deflecting his huge blade-arm with his sword. Fíli stood close by fighting off another huge orc with his brother, while close by, Dori and Nori worked together on fighting another, keeping its attention off Ori as he smacked it with the borrowed warhammer. Dwalin held his own against a particularly large orc as Bofur only a few feet away heaved his mattock out of the chest of one he got the upper hand on. The others clashed against a few other nasty looking orcs, gaining up on them with ease.

Azog suddenly bellowed after tossing Thorin back, and advanced on him with his huge flail. Overhead as they battled the orcs, the huge bats were scattered throughout the sky, screeching and flittering about. Keeping his eyes on the enemy, Thorin ducked and dodged the swinging flail, missing it by a hair at most of its rounds. An arrow bit into Azog’s thick flesh at his neck and he howled with unconcealed pain and fury. His flail hit the ground heavily as he turned his mad eyes to Kíli, but Thorin jumping at him regained his attention.

More orcs joined the fight at that very moment, and some went right to Thorin. Kíli shot down some of them while Fíli remained by his side to keep him safe. Unfortunately Kíli wasn’t quick enough to get them all, one managing to harshly toss Thorin onto the ice of the river. He rolled a few times and continued to slide an extra few feet from the force of the throw. As soon as he glanced up, he realized how far from the others he had become.

One of the bigger orcs who had joined Azog was already closing in, sneering down at him as it lifted its blade. Azog shouted something in Black Speech that stayed the orc’s hand, and in that same moment, a blade was thrown into its chest. As it fell forward, Thorin immediately recognized it as his sword, Orcrist and made a grab for it when the bastard landed. Briefly he acknowledged Legolas quite a distance behind him already engaged with a few other orcs close to where the ice fell away into the frozen waterfall. He recalled the time he took down an orc from a barrel in the river of Mirkwood that had been about to strike the elf. Legolas had actually found a chance to pay back Thorin’s deed, and for that, the king was grateful. He stood then, with both a dwarven sword and an elven sword, and stared Azog down. Kíli’s arrow had been torn out and the black blood ran free and thick over the bastard’s armor.

Baring his teeth, Azog stomped toward him, dragging his flail up to start swinging it. As he closed in, he swung the heavy bulk of it straight downward, missing Thorin by a bare inch when the king dodged. Each swing down cracked the ice more and more and as the orc went for another, a high pitched cry of an eagle distracted him. Most around them continued to fight, only those who had a free moment looked to the skies to see the majestic birds begin to attack the bats.

With the hideously stupid orc distracted, Thorin rushed at him. Azog instantly turned on him and lashed his blade-arm out. It was blocked with the dwarven sword while Orcrist slashed the damned thing’s torso. With a shout, Azog stumbled back and readied his flail. Before he could do anything however, Fíli and Kíli raced over and sliced at each heel, then jumped back to watch with satisfaction as the bastard came crashing down.

“You look better down there, orc,” Thorin seethed, “down on your knees before the king!” He reared his right arm back and plunged the entire blade of Orcrist straight through Azog’s heart. Azog was speechless as he stared back up at the king, wide eyes filled with denial and pain. In his last seconds, he struck out with his blade-arm, but only grazed Thorin’s side as the dwarf stepped to the side. Thorin smirking victoriously down at him was the last thing Azog saw before collapsing backward. Thorin grabbed the hilt of his sword and tore it out as the orc fell at Fíli and Kíli’s feet.

“Woo!” Kíli exclaimed and rushed to toss himself at his uncle. Fíli joined him and each shared a brief hug with Thorin, smiling at him with relief. “It’s finally over.”

“And the others?” Thorin wondered, glancing around them to see Legolas and Tauriel standing amongst his company. The rest of the orcs had been taken care of, laying all over the ground and the ice, broken and bloody. Thorin hadn’t seen when Tauriel had joined them, but he wouldn’t deny that he was glad she and Legolas had come to aid them.

“Looks like they’re all okay,” Fíli replied softly. “It’s a miracle.”

“What about Bilbo?” Kíli suddenly asked, and Thorin nearly choked on the fear that suddenly constricted his heart. “He must be here somewhere. I didn’t see him where he’d been kept before. That is, if what I saw really was him.”

Thorin was already treading over ice and snow toward his company and the elves on the bank, his nephews quick to follow. “I’m glad to see you all safe,” he began, huffing as he stopped before them. The exertion of the war was finally catching up with him. “But we must search for Bilbo. I must know if he’s okay or if…” He couldn’t bear to finish and left the implication hanging. Óin was hovering over some of the dwarves who’d sustained more injuries than others, those who were hurt seated and nursing their wounds.

“I’m sure he’s here somewhere. Come on, let’s go!” Kíli exclaimed and bounded ahead of the group and rounded the corner to where Azog had come from. Fíli ran after him immediately, the dwarves left behind sharing looks and fixing their eyes on Thorin.

“For those who are able, search the place. Leave no hall nor room unchecked,” he ordered. The dwarves that were well enough followed the prince’s footsteps, murmuring amongst themselves as they hurried to catch up. That left close to half of the company behind with Óin and the elves.

“I’ll get a healer to tend to them,” Tauriel said to Legolas, about to turn away until Thorin acknowledged them.

“I thank you for coming to aid us. I have a friend who is missing and would ask that you keep an eye out for him,” Thorin requested uneasily. It pained him to ask elves for assistance, but if it would get Bilbo back to him, he’d do anything.

“The hobbit?” Legolas questioned and Thorin nodded. He glanced to Tauriel then.

“We’d all appreciate the healers. Just keep an eye out on your way down if you would.”

She nodded with a smile and went on her way. Thorin turned from them and made to follow the others into the ruins. Legolas trailed after him until they reached more halls that branched off toward more rooms. Thorin continued straight down and eventually reached a stairway at the end. He took it down to the next level and moved carefully through the dark halls.

He was sure he spent the better part of an hour searching endlessly. As he drew deeper into the ruins, he lost more and more hope. After descending another set of stairs, his steps slowed and his eyes zeroed in on bars lit with the dying light filtering in through a window on the opposite side of the hall. There were several barred cells, but those that he passed and could see into were empty. He hoped Bilbo was there while at the same time he didn’t. To be locked in there, cold and alone, isn’t something he wanted to imagine the little hobbit going through.

When he came to the end of the hall, he breathed a sigh of disappointment, his shoulders sagging and his spirits dampening. Whether Bilbo was in there or not, he no doubt went through a lot after having been handled by as sick a creature as the orcs. He turned to retrace his steps out of there, but a noise stopped him.

“ _Thorin._ ”

The dwarf froze so stiffly that he was sure he felt his heart stop. He turned his head and squinted his eyes to peer into the darkest cell. There, huddled against the wall was none other than his little hobbit. His heart leapt at the sight, awash with the sweetest relief. Bilbo was alive and okay; he couldn’t have been more overjoyed than in that moment.

“You’re here,” Thorin murmured, doing nothing to hide that utter relief.

Grabbing the bars of the door, he tugged it open easily and stepped in. Bilbo was bound by his hands and chained to a hook in the wall above his head. Thorin immediately released the chain and laid it at their side. He pulled out a hunting knife and cut through the thick rope binding the hobbit’s wrists together. As soon as they were freed, Bilbo brought them around and grasped Thorin’s coat weakly. In turn, Thorin wasted not another moment in pulling him forward, pressing the smaller body to his chest protectively. He felt Bilbo shake softly against him, whether from sobs or the cold, he wasn’t sure.

“I would take back my words and my deeds at the gate,” Thorin whispered into those honey curls he had become so fond of. “You did what only a true friend would do.” Pulling his head back, he coaxed Bilbo into looking into his eyes with a cold hand to his cheek. “Forgive me.” He pressed his forehead to Bilbo’s and closed his eyes. “I was too blind to see.”

Bilbo slid an arm up and cupped Thorin’s own cheek. “I’m just happy,” he finally admitted and sniffled. “Happy that you’re here, that you’re safe.”

“I’m so sorry that I cast you out,” Thorin continued. “So sorry for throwing you into to such peril!” He said it with an edge of loathing, with hate for himself and his weakness, anger at himself for letting the sickness sway him against the one he came to love and trust above all. He had treated everyone badly and realized he had no right to ask Bilbo for forgiveness.

“No no no, you didn’t know this would happen!” Bilbo protested, ever the sweet and forgiving little thing that he was. Thorin didn’t deserve such kindness. The hobbit had both his hands on Thorin’s cheeks then, their faces still so close, sharing breath and keeping their eyes locked. “You were afflicted, you couldn’t help it.”

“I could have,” Thorin replied quietly, tilting his head just sightly. “I could have fought harder.”

“But you did and now you’re back,” Bilbo whispered, his fingers dipping into Thorin’s hair above and behind his ears. His eyes closed slowly as Thorin leaned closer, clutching gently at Bilbo’s back to hold him near.

“Never again will I mistreat you,” he breathed as their lips brushed. Bilbo released a tiny sound and his fingers tightened, pulling a little and pressing more firmly into Thorin’s mouth.

“’M cold,” the hobbit murmured, barely parting from the king to say so. “Real cold.”

Thorin drew back enough to remove his overcoat and wrapped it around Bilbo. He tugged him into his lap and embraced him, then nudged Bilbo’s cheek with his nose. They shared sweet smiles and their lips found each other once more. The hobbit sighed gently as Thorin eased his mouth open, darting his tongue out to taste. Bilbo submitted to him and opened it further over Thorin’s, tongues meeting as their lips moved together. They took pleasure in this affection for a long time until eventually they pulled apart and Bilbo rested his head on Thorin’s shoulder.

“The others are still out searching,” Thorin muttered.

“Oh my. We must go tell them then that I’ve been found,” Bilbo responded with a fond smile.

“That we must.”

Together they stood, but Bilbo had not been kidnapped by orcs without a few injuries. He stumbled against Thorin and held his side.

“What’s wrong?” Thorin asked, immediately attentive.

“My leg…must’ve sprained it bad when they shoved me down.” A deep resounding growl rumbled in Thorin’s chest. “It’s okay. Since you’re here, that must mean they’ve been killed.”

“It still greatly angers me,” the dwarf admitted. “Can you walk?”

Bilbo attempted to stand on his own, but flinched at the first jolt of pain. “I don’t think so,” he said meekly.

Without another word, Thorin bent to wrap an arm around Bilbo’s legs and his back, lifting him with ease. Startled, Bilbo clutched at Thorin’s shoulders. It didn’t take long for him to relax however, and as he placed a hand on Thorin’s neck, he tilted his head up with a silent request. The king complied with a grin and leaned his head down enough to connect their lips once again.

As soon as they ascended to the first landing, they were met with cries of glee as both Fíli and Kíli crowded around them.

“Mister Bilbo is okay!” Kíli exclaimed.

“It really is a miracle!” Fíli said in agreement.

Their loud voices carried through the halls and soon everyone who had been searching found their way toward them, including Legolas. They stood in the corridor briefly, expressing their joy and sharing words of relief and gratefulness. Together they headed back to meet with the others, finding a couple healers as well as Thranduil himself amongst them. Thorin sat Bilbo by Bofur who was eager to wrap an arm around the hobbit and spoke quickly and cheerily to him. When Thorin straightened, he regarded the elven king with neutrality, keeping his past grudges in check for the moment.

“Will you keep to your word now, dwarf?” Thranduil asked with only a little bit of a scathing tone as he turned his head with grace to meet Thorin’s gaze. “After we aided your people in battle?”

Bilbo watched Thorin intently from where he sat, snug against Bofur’s side for warmth. Kíli was pressed to his other side, followed by Fíli beside him.

With a quick look to his hobbit, Thorin nodded. “Yes. I wish to lead a prosperous kingdom and to do that, I must have the alliance of my neighbors; your own kingdom, and the one of men. I will keep my word, and Bilbo’s, and give to you the intended share in exchange for the Arkenstone.”

Thranduil smirked, but Thorin could tell he was relieved. “Very good. The man known as Bard still holds your precious stone. But not until we can meet and have our exchange will you get it.” He nodded to Legolas and the two seemed to share unspoken words. “Until then, we must make our way back. Don’t dare to change your mind,” he threatened without any real malice before turning, his son just behind him.

Thorin glared after the pompous, vain king but said nothing. He looked back to his company and his frown became a smile. Although it agitated him to see someone else so affectionate with his hobbit, he bore with it as he was more overcome with relief that all were well, that Bilbo was back and safe with him and his company.

Those of the group who were more injured rested with Tauriel and the healers watching over them, and while they made some finishing touches on dressing their wounds, Gandalf came out from the archway Thorin had led his group through earlier. He joined them with nothing but similar relief and sincere delight. He stepped over to Thorin and bent to hug him.

“I cannot believe my eyes,” he said as he looked around them after parting from the dwarf. “You all made it. I would be lying if I said that very fact didn’t bring me the utmost of joys.” He patted Thorin’s shoulder, gazing down at him with a fond smile. “Congratulations, Thorin Oakenshield. You’ve won back your mountain. And perhaps someone’s heart as well,” he added with a knowing grin accompanied by a sly wink.

Thorin slowly shook his head at him with exasperation but agreed despite himself. “Perhaps I did after all. I suppose I have you to thank.”

Gandalf chuckled. “That you do, my lord. That you do.”

It wasn’t for much longer that they rested, the large group soon picking up and waiting as the eagles Gandalf summoned over landed to allow them on. With up to at least two per mount, the eagles took flight, descending toward the base of the mountain at the gate. Thorin sat atop one bird with Bilbo pressed firmly against his front, one of the king’s arms secured around the hobbit’s middle, while the other worked to keep them steady during their flight. Bilbo leaned back, his head bumping Thorin’s shoulder, smiling wide and closing his eyes for a brief moment to simply enjoy everything.

They arrived at the gate of Erebor in only minutes. Thorin hopped off the eagle, then held out his arms to help Bilbo down. They were surrounded by Dain and what was left of his army - a surprising number to say the least - Dain himself strolling over with a grin.

“You made it, Cousin!” he exclaimed heartily, and the two affectionately bumped heads. Bilbo watched from where was clutched the the king’s side, grimacing when their skulls collided.

“And you as well,” Thorin commented kindly.

Dain noticed Fíli and Kíli as well as several others of Thorin’s company milling about and took in a deep breath. “Praise the Valar, did everyone survive?” he asked in awe.

“Somehow,” Thorin answered gratefully.

“We stayed as a unit in battle after you left. I can’t say for sure if that would be the reason why, but many of us managed to make it till the end,” Dain explained with a proud grin.

Thorin mimicked the gesture and dropped a hand on his cousin’s shoulder, sharing in his triumph. “Well we did it. We won.”

“Aye, that we did.”

Fíli came up on Bilbo’s side, Kíli not far behind. “Uncle, Bard is here,” he announced, then turned to point at a horse trotting through the crowd. Thranduil was with him, atop a horse as well instead of the elk he first rode in on. The man offered a thin smile as he regarded Thorin.

“So you really did make it,” Bard commented by way of greeting. His eyes flicked to Bilbo still held close to the king and seemed to gain some confidence as he continued. “I heard you would stay true to your word this time. Let us hope you’ve yet to change your mind.”

“I have not,” Thorin agreed reluctantly.

“I’ll make sure of it,” Bilbo added, gripping Thorin’s tunic at his back.

Bard’s weak smile grew into something more genuine and he glanced to the elf king with delighted satisfaction. “Very well. When next we meet, we’ll make the proper trade. I’ll hold the stone until then,” he said carefully, watching Thorin as he spoke to gauge his reaction. Clenching his teeth, the king nodded at Bilbo’s nudge when he remained unresponsive. “Just give us a couple days to get settled in Dale… And to deal with the fallen. I’m sure you have your share of things to take care of in the meantime to keep you well busy.”

“Remember that we hold your precious stone, dwarf,” Thranduil said as he made to follow Bard away. “Don’t lose yourself again and change your mind.”

“I don’t need your threats!” Thorin growled back, glaring.

Dain frowned hard beside him and huffed haughtily. “Should’ve cracked his pretty little head when I had the chance.”

Bilbo shook his head with a sigh. “No no, we need his allegiance. He would make for a powerful ally as much as you stubborn oafs wish to deny it.” He looked to Thorin to seek approval, grateful when he found some there, if even a little. “Even Bard. When Dale is restored, you’ll have good trade again with them and the woodland elves.”

“You should become his advisor,” Dain joked with a jolly laugh.

“Perhaps he should,” Thorin concurred, his kind eyes directed to the hobbit he held so close.

“And perhaps maybe something even more than that,” Dain added as he stalked off, his chuckles heard until he was several yards away.

Bilbo smiled shyly when he saw how Thorin flushed right up to his ears at that. It would seem their affections for each other were blatant enough for all to see, but Thorin wouldn’t have it any other way. His One was with him once again after a stupid mistake, safe and happy, and unbelievably forgiving. Thorin felt he wasn’t just lucky, but  _blessed._  He had reclaimed his home and the entire company survived, though at the conclusion of their quest, he had discovered his greatest treasure did not lie deep within the mountain, but at his side, clutched beneath his protective arm. It was in that moment that he realized all the gold in Erebor could not compare to the little hobbit he came to value above all else.

 

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's part two! ;o

* * *

 

 

Much later, they walked through the halls and the bridges together within the mountain, away from the hustle of the dwarves settling in Erebor to rest for the night, greatly fatigued and battle worn. Healers tended the wounded, and the well found rooms to stay in. Night had long since fallen and Bilbo wobbled and limped a little as they made their way to the royal chambers.

“I’m…so exhausted,” Bilbo muttered, leaning against Thorin.

“We’re almost there,” Thorin whispered back as the pair traversed down the long hall until they came to a heavy wooden door left to a crack.

The room they entered was one of many that Bilbo had yet to see. It looked long left abandoned save for the bed and a few items that had been dusted off. The sheets and blankets had been shaken out, the comforter and pillow cases replaced, and the bed remade to a far more decent state than it must’ve been when they first arrived. Thorin led him over after they both discarded some of their heavier clothing, and Bilbo fell onto it appreciatively, a soft sigh escaping him. The dwarf moved to the other side and slid beneath the covers, watching fondly as Bilbo flailed around a little to do the same. When he settled, his eyes sought Thorin’s and the two stared deeply at one another. Seemingly at once, they moved together, Bilbo tucking himself beneath Thorin’s chin and Thorin himself wrapping strong arms around the little hobbit.

“What made you come after me?” Bilbo asked quietly when Thorin had thought he was asleep several minutes later.

“I was alone. Left to my thoughts,” the king told him.

“And what were you thinking of?”

Thorin’s arms tightened around him. “You.” It was silent for several beats, then, “I couldn’t rid my mind of how angry I was. How betrayed I felt.”

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo replied against the skin of the king’s collarbone.

“No,  _I’m_  sorry. How I treated you was unforgivable and yet…”

“I do forgive you.”

Thorin clenched his eyes tightly against the first sting of tears. “How? By Aulë, I do not deserve this - I do not deserve  _you_.”

Bilbo laid back a little and pressed a hand to Thorin’s cheek, their eyes meeting. “I want things to be right between us. To be easy and happy again.” He leaned up and fit their lips together with the tenderness Thorin had a habit of associating the small hobbit with. “You were being controlled before, sort of. I won’t let that ruin this.”

“By the Valar…” Thorin whispered with reverence and pressed their mouths together again, rolling them over so he lay over Bilbo. He held up his weight by leaning on his elbows, each hand tangled in the hobbit’s lengthened hair. It had grown quite considerably since the start of their journey and he found he very much adored it. As their lips and tongues danced the lovers’ waltz, he imagined putting braids and beads into it. 

“I love you, you know,” Bilbo admitted softly when their mouths came apart. “That’s why I so desperately want to see you succeed and your kingdom flourish.”

Thorin tensed up before drawing back. “Balin was right,” he breathed. “If it wasn’t for you, I might have fallen further into the sickness. Instead, I have fallen into love.”

The absolute elation that shone through Bilbo’s smile was enough to melt the king’s heart. Thorin smiled back with all the love he could show upon his features and touched their foreheads and noses together.

“But what was it that got you into action? When you were still so angry?” Bilbo asked after Thorin lay back on his side.

“Fíli and Kíli came to me with the news of your capture. They pleaded with me to do something, but I was still so upset,” he explained as Bilbo soothed a hand in circles through the dark hair on his bare chest in the space of his deep, v-necked tunic, while listening closely. “After they left, Balin came in to speak with me. It was after he took his leave that I remembered some of the things you and I went through on our journey here. Then I finally allowed myself to consider how terribly I treated you. And that was it. I threw down my crown and asked the others to join me in battle to find you.”

Bilbo slid his hand up and over Thorin’s neck, feeling the quick pulse there. Never had they been so intimate until now. Their feelings had ultimately been exposed in their relief and joy in the dungeon when Thorin came for him. Left unspoken between them, they had only continued with the affectionate gestures and touches despite how short a time it had been since the rescue. 

“You fought back. Took control of yourself and the gold lust.” Bilbo smoothed a thumb over Thorin’s lips, the hobbit’s eyes following it as he did so. “I’m so proud.”

Thorin’s hand traveled along Bilbo’s arm until he could fit his fingers into the hobbit’s palm still resting over his cheek. “I have you to thank.”

Bilbo smiled gently, his soft features so endearing. It was quickly becoming an irresistible thing to the proud dwarf and if he wasn’t mistaken, it was far more beautiful a sight than any gem or coin. Thorin fit their lips together once more, feeling his blood buzz with a new kind of heat. He wanted this hobbit, wanted him with the fervor he previously harbored for the retrieval of Erebor, and of the gold. His passions guided his actions, emboldening his touches and strengthening the press of his lips on Bilbo’s. 

Bilbo opened for him, so warm and willing, it stirred his gut. One hand found its way beneath the hem of Bilbo’s simple white shirt, free of its suspenders and all too easy to push up to expose the soft, supple belly beneath. A little whimper reached Thorin’s ears and it only served to further his desire. Bilbo’s fingers threaded into his dark, thick mane, gripping a bead or a braid as Thorin rolled over again to hover above the little hobbit. 

“All mine,” he murmured as he ghosted his lips down Bilbo’s jaw, to his neck and behind his ear. Bilbo’s breathing had noticeably quickened, sounding almost labored as Thorin sucked a mark into the skin there.

“Tho-Thorin what,” he gasped, his eyes staring wide at the ceiling as the king pinched a nipple. “What are you doing?”

“Appreciating you,” he whispered against his mark of claim. “Worshiping you.”

Bilbo didn't respond right away. He closed his eyes and massaged Thorin’s scalp as the dwarf nibbled down his neck to suck another mark there at the junction of his shoulder. It was swiftly growing warmer in the room, a balmy, rather comfortable sort of heat that wrapped snugly around them, hazy and accented with arousal. Thorin’s fingers moved from Bilbo’s nipple back to his belly to knead it gently. The hobbit squirmed for a few seconds before he giggled. 

“Stop, that tickles,” he laughed, lifting his head to look down at Thorin, who simply watched his large hand cover Bilbo’s stomach. It nearly spanned the entirety of it, making Bilbo feel so tiny. “What are you staring at?” he asked, suddenly self-conscious. Thorin met his gaze, pupils darkened with unmistakable lust. 

“You’re so gorgeous,” Thorin whispered, slowly leaning toward Bilbo to rejoin their lips. “So small, so  _desirable._ ” Mouths remaining locked, Thorin crawled over Bilbo once more, carefully resting his weight above the much smaller body beneath. “Is this okay? Don’t let me do something you don’t want.”

Bilbo nodded. “Yeah, okay,” he replied on a breath, laying his head back and unconsciously exposing his neck in what appeared to be submission to Thorin’s hungry eyes. It only spurned his want, his need to have this hobbit.

Thorin slid both hands up to firmly grip Bilbo’s sides over his ribs, as he focused on the slide of their tongues, the press of their lips, and the taste of his One. Slowly he smoothed his hands up to bring Bilbo’s shirt further up until they caught at his armpits. At the gentle tugs, Bilbo got the hint and lifted his arms to allow the dwarf to relinquish him of it. The moment it was gone, Thorin once again trailed his lips down Bilbo’s slight torso, the chilly air raising tiny goosebumps all over. 

Thorin’s hands came to rest in the dip of Bilbo’s waist as he kissed around the hobbit’s navel, making him quiver. Carefully, the king placed a knee between Bilbo’s thighs and slipped it up enough to nudge them apart. Bilbo inhaled sharply, his hands clenching around dark hair and the bedspread alike. Nervously, he opened them further for Thorin to settle comfortably between, belatedly realizing what this position would most definitely lead to. 

A hand lay over Bilbo’s hurt leg, the concern visible upon Thorin’s handsome features. “How is it? Does it hurt to move?”

Bilbo sighed softly and wriggled as if to test it out. “I think it’s fine.”

“Are you certain?” he pressed, leaning down to kiss Bilbo’s chest, over his heart. 

“I am, yes.”

Thorin’s hands were gentle as they caressed over the hobbit’s clothed thighs. His lips trailed down to linger on Bilbo’s lower belly just above the hem of his pants, eager but patient. “Tell me if anything hurts,” he insisted, his fingers sliding up to toy with the edges of the fabric.

“H-how far are you…willing to take this?” Bilbo stammered as he held a braid between his fingers. His breaths were uneven as he spoke, quiet and unsure.

“I would have you,” Thorin murmured against the skin below Bilbo’s bellybutton, their eyes locked. The reaction he received was instantaneous as the smaller body beneath him tensed. “That is, if you’ll allow it,” he covered quickly as he sat up.

“No no, I’m just, I’m.” Bilbo exhaled slowly. “I’m nervous, I’ve…I’ve never…”

Thorin relieved him of continuing by kissing him. He knew what Bilbo was trying to say without needing to hear the rest of it. It was a little surprising, but very much pleasing to know the hobbit spread before him was untouched and would soon be wholly his own. It sparked new desire within. He simply must have him, but if Bilbo was not ready, they could settle for different activities. As of the moment however, Thorin’s gaze was tender as he leaned down to embrace his little hobbit. 

“I’ll do only what you will allow,” he assured, trying to calm Bilbo’s jitters. Bilbo nodded against Thorin’s shoulder. “What would you have me do now?”

Bilbo turned his nose into the king’s hair and inhaled. “Continue,” he whispered, sounding only slightly unsure. 

Thorin obeyed, for he could feel the need growing. He was selfish beneath his assurances and hoped he could coax Bilbo into submission. Although despite that, he absolutely would stop if Bilbo so wished it.

Continuing where he’d left off, Thorin fumbled with the ties of Bilbo’s breeches, his eyes on the halfling’s face. “Is this alright?” He didn't begin tugging them down until Bilbo gave his consent. Once they were tossed away, leaving the hobbit in only his undergarments, Bilbo pushed himself up and daringly grabbed the hem of Thorin’s tunic. The dwarf looked surprised, but he nodded, lifting his arms as Bilbo brought it over his head.

As the shirt was placed aside, Bilbo openly stared in a way that made Thorin shockingly self-conscious. A tiny hand was hesitantly raised and reached forward. It came to rest above the coarse, dark hair of his chest, smoothing over it reverently. Thorin watched the awe in Bilbo’s face, growing pleased the more appreciative Bilbo became. In seconds, both the hobbit’s hands were exploring the king’s powerful torso. He leaned forward so his head could settle on Thorin’s collar as he repeatedly stroked the dwarf’s front. In turn, Thorin rubbed his palms over Bilbo’s back and sides, his nose buried in that lovely chestnut hair. 

Eventually, Thorin gently pushed Bilbo back to lay him down. His need was becoming hard to hold back, and he found his hands reaching for the last bit of cloth covering Bilbo’s groin. He bent to shamelessly press his face against the hobbit’s obvious erection, rubbing it with his cheek and grinning at Bilbo’s loud gasp that dwindled down into a quiet moan. Hearing no noise of protest, Thorin opened his mouth over the clothed length and nibbled along the shaft. Bilbo stuck his knuckles between his teeth as if to fight the whine that escaped him. 

It didn't last for long as Thorin backed away enough to peer down at Bilbo’s tightly closed eyes. “May I?” he asked carefully with his fingers slipping beneath the waistband. Bilbo nodded and in seconds, Thorin had a very exposed hobbit before him. His pants suddenly seemed exceptionally tight as he gazed down at Bilbo’s hardened cock, settled heavily on his stomach. Gripping a hipbone in each hand, Thorin leaned down to give it a testing lick. Bilbo cried out in surprise and, encouraged, Thorin took the head in his mouth. 

Bilbo grabbed the dwarf’s hair as Thorin bobbed his head, the sensations otherworldly. His toes curled in the sheets and his breath quickened, but just as the pressure and warmth was building in his lower belly, Thorin sat back. Bilbo sucked in rapid breaths, his chest heaving with the intense pleasure, but it had ended far too soon. Before he knew what was happening, the king was nipping at his ear, his beard brushing against Bilbo’s cheek as he spoke quietly. 

“Would you allow me the honor,” he murmured, his arms, thick and sure, holding the small body close, “to make love to you?”

Bilbo keened quietly while his neck arched, rolling his head back into the pillow. Thorin took that chance to suction his lips over the center of Bilbo’s neck below his chin, unable to really stop himself from grinding downward into the hobbit’s pelvis. Bilbo was a mess of unintelligible words by means of his growing pleasure, driven wild by the dwarf above. 

Thorin was amazed at how these simple touches rewarded him with such enthusiastic responses. Bilbo was unmistakably unaccustomed to intimacy, not only concluded by his earlier admittance, but obvious by his strong reactions. He became shy and nervous, not completely unlike himself, yet it was amplified in this moment. It was rather charming, sweet in a way that didn't surprise Thorin of how irresistible it was to him. Another grind had Bilbo covering his mouth with one hand, only partially muffling his soft yelps. 

“Speak,” Thorin commanded in a rough whisper against Bilbo’s cheek as he moved the hand from the hobbit’s mouth. “May I have you this night?”

With a gasp, Bilbo’s eyes opened, immediately locking onto Thorin’s. His chest rose and fell with his quick breaths over the thin stretch of silence. The shadows danced around them in the gentle candlelight, flickering and swaying over Bilbo’s features drawn with wariness. Thorin watched him, hope a glimmer in his eyes. He cupped one of the halfling’s cheeks and pressed their foreheads together. 

“Trust me.”

Bilbo finally nodded, eyes downcast as he swallowed thickly, but Thorin wasn't satisfied. He didn't want this if Bilbo was only doing it because he’d asked. Frowning, the dwarf sat up, taking the hobbit with him. Bilbo flinched, startled as Thorin held him to his chest. 

“Tell me you want this too, or I will stop,” he said, his fingers rubbing Bilbo’s back soothingly. 

“Don’t stop,” Bilbo whispered, dropping his head to the king’s shoulder.

“Then tell me you want this,” he repeated, drawing back to look into Bilbo’s eyes.

Unwavering but anxious, Bilbo held Thorin’s gaze as he responded, his voice surprisingly steady. “I want this.”

“Are you certain?”

“I am.”

The hobbit was on his back once more as Thorin yielded control and  _ravished_  him. His need was overwhelming in its pressure, the urgency for friction propelling him onward. Distractedly as their lips molded together, he reached for his tunic on the bed beside them where Bilbo left it and dragged it up. The two parted just long enough for him to procure a good sized vial from one of the shirt’s pockets. Bilbo blanched and Thorin chuckled. 

“Swiped it from Óin’s kit,” he explained with a heated smirk. “Just in case.”

“You planned this!” Bilbo squeaked, going a deeper shade of red than he’d already been.

“Of course I did,” Thorin responded casually as he coated a couple fingers in the lavender oil from the glass bottle. “Now that we’re here, safe in the mountain, I knew the opportunity would present itself sooner or later.”

Bilbo blushed even harder, his eyes looking anywhere but at Thorin’s lewdly lubricated fingers. With his clean hand, Thorin pushed Bilbo’s thighs further apart. There was resistance at first, the little hobbit gasping as he instinctively made to close them, but he caught himself. Thorin paused, his eyes seeking Bilbo’s for the reassurance to continue. Bilbo said nothing but sighed softly as if trying to calm himself before spreading his legs for the king between them. 

“It’s okay,” Bilbo whispered when Thorin hesitated. “Was just…startled.” He closed his eyes and rolled his head to one side as he waited.

Thorin crawled over him then and nuzzled his nose into Bilbo’s collar as his oiled fingers slipped between Bilbo’s cheeks. When the hobbit pulled in a sharp breath, Thorin lifted his head and pressed his lips to Bilbo’s, to distract him as his fingers found the little puckered hole. Clinging with a sudden strength to Thorin’s shoulders, Bilbo allowed the kiss and returned it with vigor. 

“Ahhh,” he hissed into Thorin’s mouth as one thick tip pushed its way inside. His back arched and his head dug into the pillow at the sensation of the digit wiggling further into him. Thorin hovered above him still, his lips following Bilbo’s as the halfling tipped his chin back. When he realized he couldn’t reach, Thorin lowered his head and kissed along Bilbo’s exposed neck while slowly preparing him.

He spent a generous amount of time sliding only one finger in and out, desperate to ensure the small creature beneath his much larger form would come to no harm when he would take him. Bilbo was untouched and thus inexperienced. If he failed to prepare Bilbo properly, he knew his thick girth would bring agony instead of the desired pleasure he wished to share in with his little hobbit. 

Below, Bilbo panted, sweat collecting on his forehead as he slowly rolled it to and fro. His shut eyes clenched when Thorin finally introduced another finger, and with two, he could more effectively stretch Bilbo. It was a long process, as Thorin was determined to make sure Bilbo could open for him with only pleasure. But the hobbit was becoming antsy and impatient. His fingers dragged over Thorin’s back, and his hips rocked slightly. 

The king wanted him now, but he must take his time with this, for it was crucial. Bilbo’s first time would be memorable, he told himself, not for being painful but for being the best experience. It would make him feel ecstasy rather than make him feel hurt.

When Bilbo suddenly shouted out, Thorin froze before nearly tearing his fingers away. There was a startled laugh and then a soft moan. Bilbo shoved his face against Thorin’s neck and inhaled deeply as he brought his legs up to grip around the dwarf’s waist. Whatever he’d done, it was obviously good, Thorin decided as he repeated the curl and pull of his fingers inside the hobbit. Bilbo sighed against Thorin’s throat, a tiny noise tumbling out with it, muffled against the hot skin of the king. 

When a third finger was added, Bilbo’s legs squeezed around Thorin, his back arching again. Thorin was able to slot his lips back to Bilbo’s as the halfling pulled his head from the dwarf’s neck. Many more minutes passed them by, but Thorin was pleased as he felt Bilbo’s tight heat slowly become more pliant and open for him. 

“Okay,” Bilbo huffed, parting from Thorin’s mouth and pressing their cheeks together. “Okay.”

“Just a little more,” Thorin murmured, feeling as though it wasn't quite enough yet. 

“No,” Bilbo whispered, lips brushing the king’s ear, one hand tangling into that dark mane of hair. “Take me now…make love to me.”

Thorin felt heat roil in his lower gut at those words and he found he could not deny them. A slick, quiet noise followed his fingers out before he fumbled for the vial left on the sheets. Briefly, he moved from the bed to discard his trousers and with his clean hand, he poured oil into the other, then stroked it over his massive, engorged cock. Bilbo shrank back as Thorin returned to him after setting down the bottle on the bedside table, walking over the bed on his knees as he came to the closed legs of the suddenly shy hobbit. 

“What’s wrong?” Thorin wondered, worried Bilbo changed his mind, for he could not stop now. His clean hand rested on one of Bilbo’s shins, ready to part them once more but waiting for an answer.

“Will,” Bilbo paused to swallow. “Will that um, fit?” he squeaked, his eyes nervously flicking between the king’s face and his very impressive length.

Thorin balked, his hand stilling on himself. “Why, I have prepared you for nigh an hour to ensure that I would,” he protested gently. His need was unbearable, but he was able to keep his head in order to be careful with his One. 

Bilbo didn't seem to relax at Thorin’s words, but his legs went partially limp. The king exhaled softly with relief as the hand on Bilbo’s shin guided them apart for him to move between. Once he was sure his erection was generously coated, he spread the excess oil over the halfling’s entrance before wiping the rest off on his tunic. 

Thorin gripped Bilbo’s hips in each of his large hands and tugged him closer. In response, Bilbo’s legs wrapped around the dwarf’s waist as his hands found Thorin’s knees to hold onto. His breaths were shaky as he waited, watching Thorin guide himself to the hobbit’s clenching hole. 

“Please relax,” Thorin murmured just as the head of his cock pushed against Bilbo. 

Bilbo’s breath hitched as he shuddered, head falling back into the pillow. His chest heaved, nerves rendering him petrified as he vibrated with apprehension. Thorin lowered himself over Bilbo, their chests pressed together as one hand remained below to guide himself inside as he comforted the halfling. He nibbled along Bilbo’s jaw and kissed a spot beneath his jaw. He gently took the soft point of Bilbo’s ear between his teeth next, making the halfling gasp, then groan as Thorin dared a short thrust forward, edging the head inside. It was slow going, but Thorin was sure to make this pleasant. His lips found Bilbo’s once again as he continued to press inward at a nearly agonizingly slow pace. 

Bilbo whimpered softly against Thorin’s lips, and when Thorin parted from him, he felt his heart lurch at the sight of a tear dribbling down Bilbo’s temple. Hastily he kissed it away before he grabbed for the vial again. He poured the remaining oil over his half buried cock and soothed it over Bilbo’s tightly stretched skin. He pulled out a little and pushed back in, the slide now easier. More satisfied, Thorin returned to Bilbo’s waiting arms.

As Thorin gave short, quick thrusts to fully sheath himself, he snaked his left arm beneath Bilbo’s shoulders while the other held the hobbit’s lower back, keeping him steady as Thorin pressed further inside. When finally his hips settled flush against Bilbo’s bottom, Thorin released a long, contented sigh. The feeling of being fully seated inside the one he valued and loved above all else, of finally being able to truly call Bilbo his own made his heart sing and his body tingle with raw possessiveness. His arms tightened, squishing the hobbit to his chest as he pulled out until just the head rest inside, then slowly slipped back in. He repeated the movement a couple times, listening carefully to the breathy moans and soft whines rewarded by his ear.

Soon, Bilbo’s hips undulated back to meet Thorin’s slow thrusts, and finally, unable to hold back his need any longer, the dwarf picked up his pace. Several minutes in, he rolled his hips up at an angle that had Bilbo throwing his head back with a wail. With a triumphant smirk pressed against Bilbo’s neck, Thorin aimed to maintain that angle and had Bilbo shouting his name in seconds. The halfling was being uncharacteristically vocal and Thorin found he very much enjoyed it. It made his lower belly swirl with heat, his oncoming climax feeling too close for his liking, for he’d wish this moment to last forever. 

As Thorin pressed ever deeper, Bilbo held on more tightly. Cries and whines filled the room, accompanied by the dwarf’s lower grunts and sighs. The heat became nearly stifling between them as their skin rubbed and slid together. Thorin’s thrusts became more intense and powerful as the minutes drew on and it almost became too much for the little hobbit, for his moans and shouts were endless. In the midst of it, Thorin rained kissed over Bilbo’s arched throat, sucking marks over the skin periodically. When his climax neared, his mouth clamped over the junction of Bilbo’s neck and shoulder, his thrusts becoming hasty and erratic. His big hands gripped Bilbo’s hips, holding them in place as he drove into him relentlessly. 

It was all Bilbo could do to hang on. Ecstasy encased him within its enthralling haze, bringing him to completion. As Thorin’s uneven pumps rigorously pressed into his sweet spot, the building tension tightened in his belly until he could no longer hold it. With a gasp and a shout, he spilled between them. As a reaction, he clenched around Thorin, who in turn let out a grunt. His thrusts then became somewhat desperate. He hardly pulled out, instead he forcefully rolled his hips against Bilbo as if to dig himself as deep as possible. He held Bilbo’s hips securely, keeping Bilbo stable as he shoved forward one last time and let out a long, heavy groan as he finally released himself deep within his One. 

He partially supported his weight as he slumped over Bilbo, peppering kisses over the hobbit’s hot and sweaty face until their lips locked. It didn't last long however, as the both of them were exhausted. After Thorin slowly slipped out, he mustered forth the last reserves of his energy to fetch a rag and clean themselves up. Once he deemed them clean enough, he tossed the dirty cloth aside and pulled the sheets over them and brought his lover’s little body close and curled around him. 

"Love you," the king whispered as fatigue took him.

Bilbo hummed, hardly of the right mind to form a proper response.

In no time, the pair of them fell asleep with their heads pressed together and their arms around each other. Never had the dwarf king felt so secure and safe as he did entwined with another. Within slumber, his dreams brought him images and scenes of a future of the prospering kingdom of Erebor, with successful trade and powerful allies, as well as the love of his life at his side to rule with him as his consort. The sickness was at bay, if not completely quelled, and he hoped it would remain so in the coming years. By no means was he his grandfather, and he would do his damnedest to make sure he didn't allow the gold lust to change him again. With Bilbo by his side to ground him, he was confident he could handle it. 

 

* * *

 


End file.
